


A Heartbeat in This Haunted Town

by orphan_account



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Ending, Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mental Instability, Physical Abuse, Romance, Sibling Incest, Slurs, Twincest, Verbal Abuse, Violence, Wax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Sinclair brothers survive. Bo finds his feelings toward Vincent changing, and he doesn't like it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Universe in which the Sinclair brothers kill Nick and Carly before they are able to burn down the House of Wax.

Bo stumbled into the house, the arrow wound in his arm had reopened. The blood spilled through the makeshift bandage, and down his sleeve. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and the sound made his chest tighten.

“Vincent!” He yelled, his voice husky as he tried to stay conscious. “Where the hell are you, you goddamn freak.”

The world began to darken before his eyes. He felt his way to the couch and lay down, throwing one leg out across the coffee table. His head reeled, and he felt himself giving in.

“Well, shit.” He whispered, as he slipped into oblivion.

 -----

 

When Bo woke up, he could hear the sound of movement in the kitchen, and the light clanging of pots and pans. He became suddenly aware of the throbbing in his arm. He looked down and saw he was shirtless, and that a fresh bandage had been wrapped around his bicep.

He tried to sit up, but his head spun, forcing him back down onto the couch. The noise must have alerted Vincent, as he came into the room. He walked to the couch, and placed the back of his hand against Bo’s forehead. He reached behind Bo’s head and adjusted the pillow.

This was too much. Bo smacked away Vincent’s hands.

“Get off me, I can take care of my own pillow.”

Vincent wordlessly returned to the kitchen, reemerging holding a wet cloth. He crouched by Bo’s side, and placed the cool towel against his brother’s head. Bo struggled to get up and fight his brother off, but Vincent placed his hand on Bo’s chest and pressed hard, forcing him back onto the couch.

It was times like these Bo was reminded of Vincent’s strength. Bo ran his mouth, and intimidated Vincent on a regular basis, but he knew that Vincent was physically much stronger than him. Bo called it retard strength, but it was probably a side effect of hauling wax all day.

Bo felt Vincent’s roughened hand pushing him against the tattered cushions, and his breath hitched. Perhaps it was due to the blood loss, but a warm sensation seemed to spread from his chest to his abdomen, and further down. He could feel himself stiffening, and was just grateful that his jeans had been left on.

He stopped fighting, and let Vincent tend his brow with the cool, wet cloth. When Vincent was satisfied the care had been sufficiently received he stood and left the cloth in place, retreating to the kitchen. Bo would analyze these new feelings some other time, for now he just wanted to sleep.

Bo woke for the second time on the couch. Vincent was nowhere in sight, and he looked around, his head still hurting. His bare chest had been covered by a blanket, and his hair lay damp across his sweaty brow.

He struggled to stand. His head was pounding, and he felt nauseated. Bo made his way to the kitchen, leaning against the wall for support, a trail of red across the faded wallpaper followed in his wake. He fell into a chair by the kitchen table, and found a note from Vincent.

_I made some soup, it’s on the stove. I’ll be back soon._

“No shit you’ll be back soon. Where else would you go, goddamn idiot.” Bo mumbled, as he stood with some effort and came to lean against the stove.

He supported himself with his injured arm, while operating the spoon with the other. It was potato leek soup, not exactly Bo’s favorite, but he choked it down. He saw Vincent had left a full glass of water on the counter, so he abandoned the soup, and carried the water back to the couch.

Usually he enjoyed having the house to himself, but as he looked around at the empty room he found himself hoping against his own will that Vincent would walk through the door. He leaned back with a groan, and there was a flash behind his eyelids as his wounded arm came to rest by his side. He rolled his eyes at the pain, which only made his headache worse.

Five minutes later Vincent walked through the door, carrying a plastic bag. The bag bore the logo of the supermarket in town, and Vincent set the bag and the keys down in the doorway. He crossed the room toward Bo, nervously adjusting the sleeves of his sweater as he moved. He paused by the doorway, unsure of whether to proceed.

Bo sighed.

“Get over here, freak.”

Vincent came to Bo’s side, his gaze remaining fixed on the floor.

Bo closed his eyes, not allowing himself to witness what he would have to do next.

“I need help.” He paused, taking in a deep breath. “Just someone to lean on, I’m going to bed, but I can’t make it up the stairs.”

Vincent silently lowered himself so Bo could grab his shoulder. The pair stood, Bo with some difficulty. They tried taking a few steps, but the blood loss had affected Bo, and he was unable to continue. Before he knew what was happening, Bo found himself lifted into Vincent’s arms. Vincent seemed to realize a bridal carry would be too humiliating, so he carefully swung Bo over his shoulder, his arms gripping his brother’s legs.

Bo jammed his eyes shut, and felt his face grow red with embarrassment. Vincent climbed the stairs, and Bo’s body jogged against him with each step. With the friction Bo felt himself growing hard against his brother’s shoulder, and he pressed his face into the other man’s back, willing himself down. It didn’t work. He only hoped that Vincent couldn’t feel it.

After what felt like a year they finally reached the bedroom. Vincent lay him down gently on the bed, and for a moment his own weight lay across his brother’s body. Bo held his breath, waiting for the moment to pass. It did, but almost painful in how slowly. Vincent pulled the blanket over him, and left the room.

Bo wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Instead he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter will be posted next week. I promise that, unlike in this chapter, Bo will not be falling asleep every two seconds.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

Bo woke up and the sky outside his bedroom window was dark. He felt blindly for his watch. Unable to find it, he flopped back down on the bed.

“Vincent!” he yelled. “Get your sorry ass in here!”

Soon enough he heard slow and heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. Light spilled into the room as Vincent opened the door.

“What time is it?” he asked.

Vincent picked Bo’s watch up off the floor, and handed it to him.

Eight.

He’d been asleep nearly twenty-four hours judging by the darkness.

“Switch on the light.”

Vincent felt for the switch and, turning it, illuminated the room. Bo unwound the bandage with shaking fingers. Vincent tried to help, but Bo kicked at him until he took a step back. The skin was red and swollen, but the bleeding had stopped. Bo felt better; his arm and chest ached, but his head was no longer throbbing.

Vincent handed him a glass of water, which he drank down quickly. He felt himself begin to relax a little. Leaning back, he paused a moment to take in his brother’s appearance. Vincent seemed tired, though it was always hard to tell because of the mask. He just appeared all worn out.

Bo’s eyes trailed across the mask, and down to the line where the wax met skin. The muscles were emphasized by the lamplight, and Bo felt himself swallow hard. He couldn’t tear his gaze from his brother’s neck. He watched the Adam’s apple bob nervously.

He liked to think that he was the reason Vincent was always so anxious.

“I think I might rest a while,” he said, trying to distract himself from the lewd thoughts that forced their way to the forefront of his mind. “Beat it, freak.”

Vincent nodded, and reached across Bo to adjust the pillow.

Again with the pillow.

Bo felt Vincent’s hot breath against his neck, his chest pressing against him, and Bo lost all control. Using what strength he had, he pulled Vincent onto the bed; flipping their position, and lifting himself to straddle Vincent’s thighs.

Vincent’s face was blank, but then again it always was. Bo hated that damn mask. He pressed his hand against the chin, and the wax curved against his fingertips. He pushed the mask up with the heel of his palm, exposing Vincent’s mouth.

He waited there a moment, trailing his thumb across Vincent’s lips. He felt the saliva, wet against his fingertip. Finally, when he couldn’t stand it anymore he pressed himself down, capturing Vincent’s mouth with his own.

It was better than he could have imagined. He wrapped his fingers in Vincent’s hair, and pulled roughly. Vincent lifted his hips in response, further closing the space between them.

Bo pressed down, one hand continued to run through his brother’s hair, while the other rested on Vincent’s collarbone. He felt his brother’s heartbeat under his fingertips, and Vincent gasped as Bo jerked back on the long, black hair.

That quiet sound from his ordinarily mute twin caused Bo to almost immediately get hard. His erection pressed against Vincent’s leg, and he kissed him with increased need.

Vincent’s hand reached up and touched Bo’s cheek.

This slight movement brought Bo back to himself, and he recoiled in a panic. He sat up, still atop his brother’s legs, and looked down. He saw Vincent’s eye, wide with surprise. _Possibly disgust_ , Bo realized with a pang. He observed how mangled the mask was, noticing the exact imprint of his fingers on the twisted wax.

He felt sick.

Bo pushed himself off the bed with his good arm. Stumbling to his feet, Vincent looked at him across the bed in confusion.

“Get!” Bo yelled. “Just get the hell out of here, you fucking freak!”

Vincent lifted himself off the bed slowly and walked to the door, passing by Bo.

Bo hit Vincent’s shoulder as he passed. Hard.

“It’s your fault! With that hair you look too much like a goddamn girl. No wonder you’re confusing the hell out of me.”

He threw himself back down on the bed, regretting the motion when he felt a sharp pain in his arm. In that moment with his brother, he had forgotten how hurt he was. He just hadn’t felt any pain.

The worst part was Vincent’s silence. Vincent was always quiet, but Bo figured that if there was ever occasion to talk that would have been it. Vincent could talk, and he was a hell of a lot smarter than Bo in just about every way. He just chose silence, and for once it was bugging the hell out his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

Bo lay there, staring up at the ceiling for what felt like hours. He kept going over the expression on Vincent’s face, or what little of it he could see behind the mask. The walls were dull in the yellow lamplight, and his eyes felt gritty as the night wore on.

He could hear Vincent walk up the stairs every hour, and wait outside the bedroom door. After a few minutes, the heavy footsteps would retreat.

Bo rubbed his face, trying to get Vincent out of his head. He wished he could just fall back asleep, but it seemed that the twenty-four hours he’d just slept left him pretty wired.

And thirsty.

He would kill someone for a drink of water just then. The way he was feeling, he’d kill someone just for the hell of it.

He had two options: either stay in bed and call for Vincent, or stand up and try to get the water himself.

Neither option was particularly appealing.

In the end, he decided that falling down the stairs and breaking his neck was more appealing than facing his twin brother. He stood up, and immediately felt the throbbing in his head resume. He steadied himself on the doorframe, as he walked on shaky legs into the hallway.

He took each step, one at a time, his hand holding onto the railing like his life depended on it; his knuckles were white as he kept himself upright.

He heard movement in the kitchen as he finally reached the floor.

_Shit._

He tightened his jaw as he moved toward the light, his eyes straining. He reached out for the counter as he entered the kitchen, his gaze landing reluctantly on Vincent.

At the sight of his brother, he felt his heart skip a beat in spite of himself. He sighed: this was just getting fucking ridiculous.

Vincent turned around and took a step forward with his arms out, before stopping as if self-conscious.

“Yeah, I’m up,” Bo muttered as he shoved Vincent aside to get to the sink. “Let’s not make a federal case out of it.”

He filled a glass with water and drank it hastily, a little spilling on his bare chest. He put his hand on the counter and felt something shift beneath his fingers. He set the glass down, and picked up the object: it was a spoon.

The metal was warm, and the back still slick with melted wax. He turned it over in his fingers as he looked at Vincent. Vincent kept his face tilted downward, his eye fixed on the floor.

“Look at me,” Bo said.

Vincent kept his face down, unwilling to meet his twin’s eyes. He kept pulling at the sleeve of his sweater with his wax-callused fingertips.

“Look at me, you freak,” Bo said more forcefully.

Vincent relented, straightening his neck so he was looking his twin full in the face. Bo could see where Vincent had begun repairing the damage he had inflicted on the mask during his earlier moment of passion. The job was nearly done, it just needed a few adjustments.

Bo threw the spoon at Vincent. It hit his chest and landed on the floor.

“Pick it up,” Bo said, his voice threatening.

Vincent obediently stooped to retrieve the thrown spoon. Standing, he looked expectantly at Bo.

“Finish it,” Bo said, as he walked out of the kitchen. “I don’t want to see you around here with that mask all screwed up.”

Bo could feel his heart thudding sluggishly in his chest. He was still dehydrated, but there was something more. Something that tugged at his chest, forcing him from Vincent’s presence.

Hurt.

He had felt strangely hurt that Vincent was trying to fix the damage he caused to the mask. He missed seeing his fingerprints pressed into the wax, that tiny glimpse of the corner of Vincent’s mouth.

It was like Vincent was trying to get rid of any proof that they had shared that brief, heated moment in the bedroom. As ashamed as Bo was of himself, he couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of Vincent, the soft lips so yielding beneath his own.

At the thought of his brother’s mouth, Bo could feel himself hardening again. His head reeled as he tried to make sense of the sudden ache that filled his groin at the mere thought of Vincent. Despite the pain in his head and his wounded arm, it seemed his mind and body were more than willing to screw with him.

_What the hell was wrong with him._


	4. Chapter 4

Bo lay down on the moth-eaten couch. He wanted to go back to the bedroom, but he wasn’t feeling up to climbing the stairs. He sank back, trying briefly to get comfortable, before giving up. He was achy and tired.

Ironically, the pillow under his head was at an awkward angle, but he sure as hell wasn’t getting Vincent to fix it.

After a few minutes, Vincent came to stand in the doorway, looking down at Bo. The wax mask was smooth, the jaw perfectly shaped. There was no way to tell that it had, only moments before, been mangled in a fumbling moment of passion.

Everything Vincent did was fucking perfect: his wax statues never had so much as a hair out of place.

Bo could barely draw a cat with a crayon.

He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the ache in his arm, threw on boots, and walked outside the house. The night air was warm, and everything around was dark. No one was passing through, so they kept the electricity to a minimum.

His truck was in bad shape after his fight with that bitch, but he couldn’t deal with that now. He walked past it, feeling the dirt soft beneath his boots. The dead kids’ bodies were in the museum by now, Vincent would’ve made sure of that, and he could find time to deal with the truck later.

He had been too mean to Vincent. He knew that.

That was how he was. He’d get rough, yell a little, push Vincent around, but then he’d apologize. He would say something nice, let Vincent know he was there for him. It was this last part that was missing. He just couldn’t bring himself to comfort his twin, with everything that had been going on in his fucked-up head the past few days.

Still, he knew he had to do it.

With a heavy sigh, he walked back to the house, enjoying the last of the night air as he opened the door.

“Vincent,” Bo called, making a deliberate effort to keep his tone neutral.

He could hear heavy footsteps, and Vincent appeared in the doorway. Even barely laying eyes on Vincent, Bo could feel his heart beat a little faster.

“Come here,” Bo said.

Vincent walked forward slowly.

Bo motioned for him to come closer, until they were standing only a foot apart. Bo put his hand on Vincent’s shoulder, though his brother was still avoiding eye contact.

“I’m real sorry. Okay?”

Bo put his hand on Vincent’s cheek, and tried to angle his brother’s face toward him. Vincent was reluctant, still turned away.

Bo ran his fingers over the newly repaired wax, feeling an all too familiar shudder run down his spine.

“You know I’m here for you, right?” he breathed.

His fingertips reached Vincent’s neck, and he brushed the skin. He touched the edge of Vincent’s sweater, before reaching just beneath the knitted wool to run his thumb along Vincent’s collarbone. The skin was soft, and Bo wanted more.

He wanted to strip off whatever clothing lay between them, to run his hands over his brother’s naked body. He wanted to feel Vincent’s heartbeat against his fingers, and to hear that slight gasp, dragged unwillingly from mute lips.

Bo’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he swallowed: hard.

He pulled his hand back, as suddenly touching Vincent had become more than he could handle. He scratched the back of his neck and looked up at the ceiling.

“I just…I’m sorry, that’s all.”


	5. Chapter 5

Bo had decided to just be straightforward with Vincent, because all this running around in circles was getting him nothing but a headache. His wounds were healing well, and he couldn’t use pain as an excuse to put this talk off anymore.

But, that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it.

When he got back to the house, he sat down on the steps and called Vincent’s name. Soon he heard the footsteps approaching, and breathed a deep lungful of fresh air as he tried to get his thoughts in order.

“Vincent, will you sit with me a minute?” he asked.

Vincent hesitated a moment, before sitting down beside his brother. Vincent had just bought a candy bar from the store. Well, taken it. The wax shopkeeper didn’t exactly mind.

“There’s something I have to talk to you about,” he began, as Vincent unwrapped the candy. “It’s not gonna be easy, so just bear with me. Alright?”

Vincent nodded, lifting the mask a little so he could eat. He offered some to Bo, but Bo just waved it away; Vincent was the one with the sweet tooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, ever since…well, you know: what happened in the bedroom.” Bo took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “The thing is, I’m not all that sorry it happened. In fact, I’d like for it to happen again.”

Vincent was watching Bo, though the mask made it damn near impossible to figure out what the hell he was thinking.

“I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” Bo said, trying to resist his usually more forceful personality. “But, I don’t think I can go much longer without knowing where you’re at with all this.”

Vincent was still just watching him, and the seconds that passed seemed longer than they had any right to be. Bo had bared his goddamn soul to Vincent, and his brother was just staring like some kind of freak. Bo clenched his jaw.

“An answer would be nice,” he muttered, turning away from Vincent.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut with all the force he had. He could feel the strain in the back of his head, and he was starting to wish he could just take back everything he had said. He had thought that telling Vincent would help him, but he was beginning to realize his mistake.

He felt a rough hand on his. He opened his eyes to see Vincent had moved closer to him on the step. Bo took Vincent’s hand between his own, raising it to his lips. He placed a tender kiss on his brother’s palm, feeling the familiar trace of wax against his lips, and breathing deep the smell of the fires Vincent kept stoked in the museum’s basement.

Vincent didn’t pull away, and Bo took this as a sign of encouragement. He moved his lips to his twin’s wrist, brushing them against the showing veins, and lightly biting Vincent’s skin.

His heart was thudding happily in his chest, and relief flooded through him as he realized Vincent wasn’t disgusted by the advances he was making.

But, it wasn’t enough.

He held Vincent’s hand in his left, interlocking their fingers. He raised his right hand, bringing his fingertips to lightly touch the edge of Vincent’s mask. He looked to Vincent for permission, and Vincent nodded.

Bo reached beneath the edge of the mask, and folded the lower half to the side. He knew Vincent wasn’t comfortable having his entire face shown, so he was careful to keep the damaged side concealed beneath the carefully crafted wax.

He was again gratified by the sight of his brother’s mouth, and he felt a wave of pleasure run down his spine. He leaned forward slowly, bringing his lips to press lightly against the corner of Vincent’s. He felt Vincent’s lips part slightly beneath his own, and Bo brought his tongue to graze Vincent’s lower lip.

He could taste the lingering sweetness of the candy in Vincent’s mouth.

He drew back a little, not wanting to take things too quickly. He had a tendency into rush into things without thinking.

Instead, he took a strand of Vincent’s hair between his fingertips and pulled lightly, before sitting back, and looking out at the land in from of their house.

Vincent reached out, placing his palm on Bo’s neck. He kneaded the flesh with his thumb, and Bo was surprised to see Vincent so forward. Vincent drew close, and pressed his lips against Bo’s, more aggressive than his brother had been.

With Vincent setting the pace, Bo leaned into the kiss. His mouth opened a little, and Vincent’s tongue was between his teeth. Bo bit Vincent lightly, and Vincent drew closer, their chests nearly pressing against one another.

After making out for a few minutes, Bo pulled back. He kissed Vincent on the cheek and looked his brother over. The mask was a little bent, but in much better condition than Bo had left it before. Vincent’s cheek was flushed, and his lips were wet.

“That was nice,” he said.

His hand was on Vincent’s knee, aching to travel further upwards.

Vincent straightened the mask, but Bo could see a line running a diagonal, showing where it had been folded.

“I’m gonna want to do that again real soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Things are heating up for the Sinclair brothers, and I think I'll keep nice Bo around (at least for the next chapter).


	6. Chapter 6

Bo could hardly think straight as he remembered that kiss with Vincent. As much as he loved being dominant, he had been completely taken aback by the forceful way Vincent joined their lips, the way his twin brother took charge.

He could feel himself begin to respond physically to the memory, so he tried to clear his mind as he walked through Ambrose.

Everything was new to him and he had to be careful. He’d screwed around before, sure. Every once in a while, some pretty thing would come wandering into town, Bo would have his way with her, and Vincent would stick her in the museum alongside the others.

But this was different.

He knew Vincent better than anyone, so he knew his brother was more than a little inexperienced in ways of the flesh (if you didn’t count butchering and sculpting), so he knew how careful he would have to be. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his twin.

He considered backing off completely, but only for about a second. The reality of Vincent’s body against his had been so much better than he could have ever imagined, and he was not about to let that go just because he was scared.

Bo was scared: scared he was going to fuck it up.

They only had each other and, if Vincent was hurt or grew to hate him, Bo had no idea what he would do.

He saw some wild roses growing by the side of the road and picked a few. They would do just fine.

Bo returned to the house, feeling incredibly stupid as he carried a fistful of flowers, like some lovesick prince in one of those stories. Still, he figured Vincent would appreciate the gesture.

When he walked in, he saw Vincent had just brought out a fresh block of wax. Bo walked up behind him, setting his hand on Vincent’s shoulder.

“What are you making?” Bo asked.

Vincent shrugged.

Bo had been holding the roses behind his back, and he brought them out, handing them to Vincent.

Vincent took the flowers slowly, careful to avoid the thorns.

He sat down, setting the flowers beside the wax. Bo watched Vincent as the masked twin began working the wax, with the aid of a blunt knife and the heat of a candle. There were times when Ambrose was quiet, and Vincent stayed in practice working on smaller sculptures.

It took a few minutes for Bo to realize that Vincent was shaping the wax to resemble the flowers. When he did, he sat down next to Vincent. He put his hand between Vincent’s shoulder blades, and felt his twin relax against his touch, though his hands never stopped working the wax.

Vincent was a true artist, as talented as the best of them. Bo was pretty much sure of that.

The sun was setting outside, but neither brother paid it much attention. Vincent was focused on the wax, and Bo was focused on Vincent.

Vincent looked at Bo every few minutes, as if unsure. It was rare for Bo was watch Vincent work, but now he was finding he couldn’t look away.

Eventually, watching wasn’t enough. Bo brought his hand to Vincent’s temple, and ran his fingers through his brother’s long hair. He toyed with the ends of the hair, and brushed his knuckles against the nape of Vincent’s neck.

Vincent seemed a little flustered by Bo’s attentions, and reached to turn the flowers on the table. This time, he was less mindful of the thorns. His thumb was stuck and, as soon as he removed the thorn, it began to bleed.

Before he could do anything about it, Bo took Vincent’s hand in his, and pressed the wound to his lips. He could taste Vincent’s blood, and longed to see the expression obscured by the mask. He’d bet it was surprise.

Vincent set down the knife on the table and stood up. Bo was still holding Vincent’s hand and looked up, questioningly. Vincent grabbed him, and pulled Bo toward the stairs.

Bo followed, his heart beating faster as he realized they were heading toward the bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

Bo’s heart was pounding as Vincent pulled him through the bedroom door. The sun had set, and the only light came from the lamp on the bedside table. Vincent brought Bo to stand by the bed, and pressed his hand against Bo’s chest.

Bo sat down on the edge of the bed. He reflexively licked his lips as he looked on Vincent, suddenly finding his throat felt a little too tight.

“Vincent, I—” Bo began, but Vincent’s hand over his mouth put a quick end to his half-hearted protest.

Vincent moved his hands, so he was cupping Bo’s face in his palms. Vincent’s thumb ran over the corner of Bo’s mouth, and Bo felt like he would just about lose it. Bo pulled Vincent closer. He brought his legs together, trapping Vincent in between, as his hands reached forward, his fingertips hooking Vincent’s belt.

He pulled Vincent even closer, so his face was only inches from his brother’s waist. Bo raised the hem of Vincent’s sweater a little, laying kisses across his brother’s warm stomach. He smelled like fire and wax.

Vincent stepped back, disentangling himself from Bo’s limbs, and motioned for Bo to lay down on the bed. Bo immediately complied.

Vincent closed the door and switched out the light. Bo could sense his brother moving around, and heard Vincent set something on the bedside table.

Bo reached out in the dark, and felt for the object. It was Vincent’s mask.

A thrill ran through him as his mind raced to understand what this might mean. Vincent _never_ took off his mask.

He could feel his brother at the foot of the bed, and the mattress shifted as it took on Vincent’s weight. He could feel Vincent’s fingers unzipping his jeans, before he was relieved of the article completely. Bo took off his own shirt.

Naked on the bed, in the darkness, Bo felt strangely vulnerable. Vincent was straddling his legs, so he could feel that his twin was still fully clothed.

Bo sat up, pulling Vincent into his lap.

Vincent’s weight fell against him, and Bo grabbed Vincent’s ass, dragging him even closer. Bo had never been more turned on in his entire life.

He pulled off Vincent’s sweater and shirt. He ran his hands over Vincent’s chest, feeling the muscles beneath his fingers.

He was so hard, and he knew Vincent could feel it too.

He tried to remove Vincent’s belt, but Vincent moved his hands. As much was Bo might have wanted to feel all of Vincent, he respected his brother’s desire to take things a little slower.

Any doubt he had was drowned out immediately by the feel of Vincent’s hand stroking his manhood. A shudder ran through his body. As Vincent continued stimulating him, Bo felt for Vincent’s face. He touched his brother’s left cheek, feeling the sweat prickling the skin.

He ached to touch the right side of Vincent’s face, to feel the disfigurement beneath his fingertips, but he knew his brother would never allow it.

Bo kissed Vincent, pushing his tongue roughly into his brother’s mouth. Vincent’s stroking grew faster, and Bo grabbed Vincent’s hair. He pulled Vincent’s head back, deepening their kiss. Vincent moaned slightly, and it was too much for Bo: he came immediately.

Bo pulled back, trying to catch his breath. He was covered in sweat, and his hands moved to Vincent’s jaw, caressing his neck. He drew his fingertips down his brother’s body, until he came to the place where he had finished. Bo reached down to the floor, Vincent still sitting on his legs, and picked up the shirt he had discarded earlier. He used it to wipe Vincent’s stomach clean.

Bo lay back down on the bed, pulling Vincent with him. He wrapped his brother in his arms, trailing kisses along Vincent’s neck. He fell asleep like that. His sweat turned cold on his skin, but Vincent’s nearness kept him warm.


	8. Chapter 8

Bo woke up, a smile growing on his face as he remembered the night before.

Vincent’s head was resting in the crook of his arm, his back pressed against Bo. Bo shifted a little, raising himself up on his elbow.

Vincent’s mask still lay on the table, and Bo could see the flawless half of Vincent’s face. The disfigurement was pressed against his arm. He could have stared at Vincent all day and never gotten bored.

He wanted to kiss Vincent. He wanted Vincent to wake up to their joined lips, to Bo’s hands on him. But he knew he couldn’t. The moment he felt Vincent beginning to stir, Bo lay back down and pretended to be asleep. It would upset Vincent to think that, for even a second, his naked face had been within his brother’s view.

Bo kept his eyes closed, as he felt the mattress shift. Vincent leaned across him to reach the mask, and Bo felt his entire body flush with heat as Vincent’s chest brushed against his.

When he was sure Vincent had enough time to put the mask back on, Bo opened his eyes, greeting his twin sleepily.

“Morning, beautiful,” he drawled, his hand reaching out to rest on Vincent’s neck.

Vincent was still sitting up, but kept his head bowed. After last night, Bo had trouble understanding this sudden shyness.

He grabbed Vincent’s shoulders and pulled him down, so Vincent landed squarely between Bo’s legs. Vincent braced a palm against the mattress to steady himself, his hair falling into his face as he looked down at Bo.

“I love you,” Bo said, tucking Vincent’s hair behind his ears, so he could better see his brother’s good eye.

Vincent nodded.

“Now, what do you say I make us some breakfast?”


	9. Chapter 9

Bo sat on the steps and sighed. A week had passed by, but it hardly seemed like a second. In that time, they hadn’t done much more than kiss, but he was surprised to find that he was pretty much content.

Vincent was back at work, and the light breeze carried the smell of melted wax across Ambrose. Bo breathed it in deep, and ran a hand through his hair.

It was peaceful.

But, of course, nothing perfect lasts long. Not without interruption at least. Sure enough, headlights broke up the low evening light, heralding travelers. Normally, Bo looked on the appearance of fresh victims with a sort of excitement, but not today. It was just another distraction from the life he and Vincent were building, and he felt undeniably annoyed.

He stood up, and walked out to the road to flag the car down. He couldn’t have these folks doing too much exploring all on their own. Wouldn’t be good for business after all.

He put his hand out, as the car slowed down, blinding him momentarily with their brights.

“Can I help you?” he asked as they rolled down the window.

There were four of them, half guys half gals. Seemed like lost college kids, altogether typical for Ambrose.

“Yeah,” the driver said, leaning over the girl in the passenger seat. “You got a gas station around here?”

“Sure do,” Bo said. “In fact, it’s my station.”

The driver looked at him blankly, clearly unimpressed. “Well…”

“It’s just down the road,” Bo said, pointing. It’s not like they could miss it. “I’ll meet you there.”

“'Kay,” the driver said before taking off, the tires sending dust flying.

“Fuckin college kids,” Bo muttered.

He reflexively turned to his truck, but then he remembered that little bitch had made driving it a no go.

Look like he was walking. He knew he needed to warn Vincent about the visitors in town, but he needed to get to the gas station first. It wouldn’t do to have those college kids poking their noses around Ambrose. Not yet, anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

Bo walked to the gas station, taillights leading the way. He was tired, and checked absently for the knife in his belt.

“Is this full service?” the driver asked as Bo approached the pump.

“Sure is,” Bo responded, careful to give the right impression.

“Premium,” the kid said, passing him a credit card.

“Cash only,” Bo said, pointing at the sign, “whole town is.”

This was true enough. Bo and Vincent occasionally needed to buy supplies, and it wouldn’t do to run missing kids’ credit cards. They’d be caught in no time.

“Fine,” the driver said tersely.

He turned to the passengers, two of whom had gotten out of the car to stretch their legs. They pooled some cash, and he handed it to Bo in a messy wad.

Bo pocketed the cash, and filled the tank. It seemed to take forever, but Bo knew that was just his mind slowing everything down. One of the girls looked at him through the car window, looking away when he returned her curious gaze.

Typical.

“Where are you folks headed?” Bo asked, glancing at the interminable gas pump.

“Why?” the other boy asked.

“Just makin’ conversation,” Bo said, careful to keep the backwoods charm in his voice. There was no need to raise their suspicion.

No one answered, and Bo looked back at the pump.

“Is there somewhere to stay in town?” the girl in the passenger seat asked, rolling the window down a little.

“Cindy, what? You really want to spend the night in this creepy place?” the other girl asked, leaning against the side of the car.

“It’s late,” she said. “Fred’s looking a little tired, and he won’t let anyone else drive,” she said the last part quietly, but the driver shot her an annoyed look.

“There is a bed and breakfast just a block away,” Bo interjected. “The owner’s probably asleep by now, but she’s a good friend. I can get you set up there. You can just pay her in the morning.”

Bo replaced the gas nozzle, and closed the cap, while he listened to the kids debate amongst themselves.

“Alright,” Fred said to Bo, when the others were done talking it out. “Take us to the bed and breakfast.”

 _A please would be nice,_ Bo thought.

“Great. It’s number three-thirteen on this road. You park out front, and I’ll meet you there.”

“Don’t you have a car?” the boy who wasn’t Fred asked.

“Of course, but it’s in my shop. Wouldn’t be right for the town mechanic to be driving around with a vehicle on the fritz, would it?”

Bo’s patience was wearing thin. He was just glad he could leave dealing with them until the next day.

He got them set up in the bed and breakfast, and they gave no sign they thought anything was wrong with the arrangement. Bo walked back in the dark, thinking about Vincent. It was about time his brother got some proper humans to work with.

“I’m home,” Bo called as he walked through the door.

Vincent came into the room silently.

“We’ve got visitors,” Bo said, a smile on his face.


	11. Chapter 11

Bo circled Cindy, who was strapped to the chair. They were beneath the pavement of the gas station, and he could hear Fred in the street above. The grate between them and the street was still stained with Carly’s blood, and Bo would have to clean that eventually. He’d deal with it after the truck.

Cindy could hear Fred too and tried to call out, but the duct tape on her mouth made this impossible.

Two of the college kids, seniors as they had informed Bo at the bed and breakfast, had already been dispatched by Vincent, leaving only Cindy and Fred.

“It’ll all be over soon enough,” Bo said, looking down at the struggling young woman. “Just don’t fight too much, I wouldn’t want to mess up your face. Vincent has a lot to work with here.”

She continued pulling at the wrist straps, stopping only when Bo pulled out a knife and held it to her throat.

During her attempts to free herself, her skirt had ridden up past her thigh, giving Bo a full view of her underwear. He stepped back a bit to see her better. Despite his attachment to Vincent, he could still enjoy a glance.

“Well, you are pretty, aren’t you,” he muttered as he looked at her.

He placed his hand on her knee, and felt her skin beneath his fingertips. He was surprised to find that, despite the obvious attractiveness of the woman in front of him, he didn’t feel much of anything. His mind was more on Vincent, hoping his brother would kill Fred soon.

He just wanted to return Ambrose to its normal population of two.

He heard a noise behind him and looked. Vincent was standing there, holding a bloodied knife.

“Vincent—” Bo greeted his brother.

Vincent dropped the weapon, turned on his heel, and left, the knife still clattering on the floor.

Bo was stunned, unsure of what had caused Vincent to leave so abruptly. Then he realized his hand was on Cindy’s knee, her skirt still scrunched up.

_Shit._

“Vincent!” he called after his brother.


	12. Chapter 12

Bo slammed the door behind him as he raced into the house.

“Vincent,” he yelled.

He knew his brother was home, he had seen the other knife buried in the doorframe. Vincent was angry, strong, and knew it.

“Vincent, you freak, get in here.”

Bo’s panic caused him to fall back on the usual insults he threw at his brother. In reality, he was scared. He knew he might have fucked things up in a way no sweet talking could fix.

Vincent appeared in the doorframe. His arms were crossed, and his face was tilted down. It wasn’t shyness this time. Bo could tell that Vincent didn’t want to look at him, and it hurt.

“Vincent,” Bo muttered, striding toward his twin.

Vincent drew back, and Bo froze. Bo could feel his heart beating out of control. He let his hand fall awkwardly to his side, and just stared at his brother.

“Look, I’m sorry for what you _think_ you saw, but I promise you nothing happened.” He moved a little closer to Vincent. “Nothing was ever going to happen.”

Vincent walked past Bo, and leaned against the wall. His hands were knotted together, and his shoulders had fallen. Still, he would not look at him.

Bo stood a few feet in front of Vincent. “I know how that seemed, but that girl did nothing for me. I swear.” He took a deep, shaking breath. “You’re the only one I want, Vincent, I love you. I need you to trust me.”

Vincent did not meet his eyes.

Bo stormed from the room, making his way to the porch, where he yanked the knife out of the doorframe. He walked back to Vincent, grabbed his twin’s hand, and forced him to hold the knife’s handle.

He wrapped his hand around Vincent’s, and brought the knife up to his own throat. He could feel the edge of the blade yearning to bite into his skin, and he kept it pressed against him.

“If you don’t trust me, you might as well cut my throat,” Bo breathed. “I would rather bleed out at your feet, than betray you like that.”

Vincent’s eye was fixed on the knife, and he tried to let go, but Bo forced his hand to remain there.

Vincent pulled his hand back, his strength besting Bo’s, and he dropped the knife to the floor. Vincent’s gaze remained on the fallen knife.

Bo reached forward, grabbing Vincent’s face. The mask twisted under his grip, and wax went under his fingernails as he dug them in. He twisted Vincent’s face, trying to force Vincent to look at him.

“I love you, Vincent,” he said.

He sunk his fingers further into the mask, before pulling them away, taking the lower half of the mask with them.

He threw it to the floor, and wrapped his hand around Vincent’s neck. He moved forward, his body pressing Vincent against the wall. He could see the disfigurement of Vincent’s face, and he brought his lips to lay kisses across the scarring.

“I love all of you,” he whispered against his twin’s skin.

Finally, he felt Vincent begin to relax. Vincent’s hands reached Bo’s face, pulling him into a deep kiss. Vincent brought him near, and Bo pressed harder against Vincent, bracing his hand against the wall.

This was everything Bo wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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